


Knicks Tee

by i_just_knew1013



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 13:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15950201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_just_knew1013/pseuds/i_just_knew1013
Summary: A collection of the many times Scully wore Mulder's Knicks tee





	Knicks Tee

The first time she wore it was after they got caught in the rain. Out in the graveyard, working out the intricacies of the Billy Miles case. When they got back to the motel, they discovered Scully's suitcase had been near a leaky spot in the trunk, and her clothes were soaked. She shyly took the worn gray cotton from his hands and closed door connecting connecting rooms to change while he ordered pizza. She emerged freshly showered and wearing his shirt, which hung halfway to her knees. She sat crossed-legged on the end of the bed and helped herself to pizza while he tried not to notice that she wasn't wearing a bra.

The second time was after Donnie Pfaster. She was so shaken up after he found her, he didn't even bother driving her to her own apartment and instead took her home with him. She sat, woodenly, on the edge of the tub while he gently cleaned and bandaged the cuts on her face and rubbed salve on her wrists where her bonds had made her flesh raw. He wordlessly undressed her, silently cursing the bastard for every bruise on her porcelain skin. Slipping the worn cotton over her head, she finally met his eyes and her face crumpled. He scooped her up and carried her to the couch, holding her in his shirt until she drifted off to sleep, wondering if he'd ever be able to make amends for all the pain he'd caused in her life.

He remembered the time she wore it to paint, her hair swooped in to a clip with random tendrils falling around her face, stomach swollen and heavy with child. The letters on the front of the shirt straining across her engorged breasts, with a tiny hole by the letter "S". He smiled as she reached as high as she could, which wasn't very high, to paint the walls of the nursery, his shirt lifting to reveal the edge of her cut-off shorts that she long-ago stopped trying to fasten. 

After he was gone, she wore it all the time. To sleep, to lounge, to cry. When it stopped smelling like him she tried in vain to capture his scent, tucking it deep in his dresser for a few hours, placing it under the pillow where he had last lain his head. 

And when he came back, she wore it for him, with him, wrapped in him.


End file.
